#theficbuddynet

[boykinqs-blog]

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so i’m 11 away from 800 (and i’m feeling a bit under the weather) so i decided to do something so enjoy!

mbf the worst potato in existence

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i’ll give you a puppy

blacklist “allison does things” if this isn’t your jam

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[boykinqs-blog]

[boykinqs-blog]

detailed blog rates??

okay so today i hit 666 followers and because I’m a satan-worshipper of course i need to celebrate, and apparently blog rates are the way to go!

mbf this absolute butt (whoops sorry guys)     

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this turned out longer than expected wow

[queernatural]

Hardcore Cuddling

requested by machodean​ for theficbuddynet!

Pairing: DeanCas Prompt: "OOOO can i have a destiel fic with Punks can get scared of thunder storms too au w/ punk!dean ??? ;w;"

read on AO3

---

"And you know what the worst part was?"

Cas, who has spent the entirety of their conversation playing with the sticky strands of hair stuck to his forehead, meets his stare. He's very particular about his hair ― even a touch too much hairspray makes him obsess over it all day until he's basically tangled it all into a ridiculous bird's nest. Which, you know, isn't an inaccurate description of what his hair's turning into right now.

"What?" Cas prompts.

Dean shakes his head, crunches his now empty beer can, and hurls it at the bin. It bounces off the rim and lands beside it, joining two more of its fallen comrades.

"Not only does he criticise me for wearing a Metallica shirt, the guy then gives me a little 'pop quiz' to determine whether I actually listen to their music. The fucking nerve." He shakes his head. "I can list every one of their songs in order of album. I can name Hammett's freaking date of birth."

Cas huffs, absently tugging at his hair again. "I suppose now you can empathise with Charlie and her altercations with the gaming community."

"I mean, that was just a one off for me," Dean says, reaching for another beer. "Charlie gets that every freakin' time she logs on to play that multiplayer game of hers."

Cas nods, finally extricating his fingers and taking a sip of his own beer. His hair is significantly messier, but he seems fairly pleased about that.

"People are shit," he says, offering his drink in a toast.

"Hell yeah they are," Dean says, tapping their beers together. "No matter which area of life they come from ― be it punk, geek, goth, whatever ― elitists are fucking everywhere and they can suck a big one."

"So eloquently put," Cas says with a smirk.

"Sexist pigs can suck a big one, too," Dean says, thinking of Charlie. "An even bigger big one."

Cas nods sagely.

They're sitting on the floor of Cas' new apartment. It's his first time moving out at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Dean's been living on his own for a few months now, so he figured he'd come over and help Cas out, move some furniture, that sort of thing.

Instead, well, they're proving how utterly hopeless they both are. Cas doesn't have a couch, but Dean brought over a case of beer, so it seemed like the best way to handle the couch situation was to get gloriously intoxicated. Never mind an IKEA trip now ― Dean's over the limit and Cas still hasn't got his licence.

What a pair they make. Sitting on the tiled floor, drinking cheap beer, their bodies covered in tattoos and piercings, their jeans ripped around the knees and ankles. Dean's hair, in contrast to Cas', is a perfectly styled mohawk, although the ends are starting to droop since the air is so humid. He had to run through the rain to get to Cas' apartment block, and he's pretty sure the fresh blue dye still stuck to his scalp is leaking down the back of his neck.

They look the exact picture of Deadbeat, a term thrown around a lot by their teachers and parents. They're both working though, with Dean at Singer Garage, and Cas at a tattoo parlor that only opened a month ago. They're earning money, living on their own ― it's better than either of their parents were expecting, so that's something.

Except, you know, Cas doesn't have a couch, or a fridge, or a washing machine. He has a microwave and a toaster, at least. The "essentials".

Meanwhile Dean, who's been spacing out for the past couple of minutes, enjoying the buzz of alcohol in his veins, suddenly comes back to himself at the sound of rain against the window. The sky is dark and grey and the wind is growing stronger, the rain coming down harsher.

"Ugh," he says with disgust.

"The roof leaked the last time it rained," Cas says, squinting out the window. "I had a giant puddle in the kitchen. I better get a bucket ready."

Cas gets to his feet, only wobbling a little bit. The guy's a total lightweight. He drags himself to the kitchen, Dean slyly staring at his ass as he walks away. Hey, he's only human. A well-sculpted ass is a gift to this world, even if it's attached to his best friend.

Dean sags against the wall, sighing up at the ceiling. He's got work tomorrow, and it's not late yet but he doesn't think the rain's going to abate anytime soon.

In his peripheries, he catches a flash of light outside, and an old fear instinctively latches onto him. He exhales, distracting himself with another sip of his beer.

While in the kitchen, Cas can't be seen from the living room, especially when you're sitting on the floor. Cas putters around in there, making a lot of obnoxious clanging sounds while he hunts for a bucket.

"I think it's gonna storm," Cas calls out. He peaks his head around, peering through the doorway. "Will you be right to get home?"

"What?" Dean coughs, waving a hand. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Cas gives him a deadpan stare. "Dean, I know you don't like thunderstorms. You're welcome to stay here tonight, if you wish."

"What, on that infested mattress of yours?" Dean says, wrinkling his nose.

It's secondhand; Cas scavenged it from the side of the road. Dean's not willing to go anywhere near it. Cas, on the other hand, thinks it's more comfortable than the expensive one he used to sleep on back home.

Cas sighs, long-suffering. "Would you rather take the non-existent couch?"

"Dude, I'll just go home. It'll be fine."

Just as he says that, however, there's a rather pointed, booming roar of thunder, strong enough to make the windows quake. Dean's entire body freezes, hands clamping tight around his ankles.

"Dean? Are you―?"

"Fine," he snaps, staring resolutely ahead at a patch of mould on the wall. "M'fine."

Cas sighs again, disappears for a moment, and then comes back out. Suddenly he's slipping into Dean's vision, crouching before him. He lays a hand on Dean's knee.

"Dean," he says slowly, "do you want me to take you home?"

"Quit babying me," Dean grunts, shaking him off. "I told you, I'm fine."

"You're shaking," Cas tells him. "I can feel it."

"That's...unrelated." Dean clears his throat. "I've had too much to drink, that's all."

Cas quirks a brow. Simultaneously, lighting flashes, illuminating the dingy apartment. A few seconds later, thunder growls, rattling Dean's bones.

"It sounds close," Cas says carefully.

"Uh, yeah," Dean says, his hands clamped around his ankles again, his body starting to sweat. "Real close."

"Dean, stay here tonight."

"No, I got work tomorrow."

"Not until midday," Cas reminds him. "Besides, you can drop me off at IKEA in the morning."

Dean looks up at him. "Were you planning on going tomorrow? Or you just finding reasons for me to stay?"

Cas shrugs. "I was not not going to go. I just hadn't made up my mind yet, and now I have." He gives him a small smile. "Come on, it helps me out more than anything."

"But―"

"Stop being difficult," Cas orders, giving him a stern look. "You're staying. End of discussion."

Thunder rumbles then, louder than the previous. Dean simply squeaks, "Okay."

Cas nods encouragingly, planting himself on the floor again, their thighs touching. He lays an arm across Dean's shoulders, pulling him in close, his body warm and sturdy.

"It's darker in my room, you know," Cas says quietly. "We can block out the lightning, and my mattress is more comfortable than this floor, by far."

"I'm not sleeping on your termite-ridden―"

"There are no termites," Cas says impatiently. "You're being a germaphobe."

Dean glares at the floor, tucking himself in closer to Cas. "I'm allowed to be. We live in a disgusting, germy world, okay? I don't have to like that."

Cas cuddles him closer, resting his hand on Dean's shaved head, brushing along the short strands of his hair. "I know, but I'm not letting you sleep on the floor, so you're going to have to deal with it, okay?"

Dean grumbles, slipping his head under Cas' chin, his cheek squished against Cas' wide chest.

"Whatever," he huffs.

They stay there on the floor for a little while longer, thunder and lightning ringing out across the skies, brightening up the room intermittently. Dean trembles, but having Cas here makes things easier. The buzzing beneath his skin quietens just a little.

It's kinda weird that he's snuggling with Cas on the floor of his new, crappy apartment, but stranger things have happened in their relationship. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but he's never been opposed to getting up close and personal with his alarmingly attractive best friend.

Eventually, Dean whispers, "You still think I'm really hardcore though, right?"

Cas chuckles. Dean starts when he feels lips pressed to his hairline, but they linger long enough for him to relax into the touch; to enjoy it more than he probably should.

"I've never thought that about you, Dean Winchester," Cas tells him.

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. "Fine. But, uh, don't tell anyone else about this, okay?"

Cas hides his smile in Dean's hair. "Okay, Dean."

"Especially Sam."

"Not a word."

[machodean-blog]

for castielshalo's free drabble prompt: "yooooooo okay so like can u write a dancer auwhere their partners in a recital or smthn and theyre like dig nerd babies andwont tell eachother they like eachother but they end up together in the end(like idc if its fluff or smut lol) i just rly love the idea of dean and cas doing these rly complicated dance moves and at the end their breathless and chest to chest and then they kiss and the crowd cheers rip me" <3 and here it is on ao3

Ballet isn't gay. Plenty of people do ballet, even guys, it's completely normal.

What was gay was the way Dean kept looking over at his shorter partner, the one with the messy hair and the clear blue eyes. The one that was actually trying to talk to him right now, eyebrows furrowed and a frown on his face.

"Dean! Are you even listening to me?"

He fumbled for words, hoping that it wasn't obvious that he was ripped out of a fantasy world. "Uh, sorry man, what'd you say?"

The anger dissipated, fading into a soft concern. The other's mood swings were definitely out of control, going from having the wrath of the gods to crying his heart out. But, that was Cas, and that was another thing that Dean loved about him, as annoying as it could be. "Are you okay, Dean?" His voice was gentle, worried, and it made his heart ache a little.

"Yeah, just, um, nervous." It wasn't completely a lie, this show was a big event for the both of him, as they were both the stars. It was fast-paced, but started slow and grave, only to continue at a moderate pace up, where the two main characters, which just happened to be these two males, ended close together. That was enough to make bother anyone.

It didn't help that Dean planned on confessing his crush to Castiel, which meant coming out to the school and everyone's families at the same time. He sent a silent prayer to the God he didn't believe in, hoping for a miracle and giving a silent thanks that his very homophobic father was a deadbeat dad and wouldn't make it to the show. Of course, thinking too hard would just make him upset, so he allowed himself to concentrate back on the dramatic lighting, the buzz of the crowd and the feeling he had of a string being twisted, tense and almost ready to snap.

All of that dissapeared when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard the soothing deep voice he had found solice in for many months now. "You'll do great, Dean. Trust me."

So he did, and how could he not? This being was beautiful, kind,  angelic even. It felt wrong not to give him his wholehearted trust and compassion. 'God, if Dad could hear me...'

His thoughts were interrupted when the announcer spoke, giving the title of the number, and telling everyone to get ready for “a breathtakingly beautiful performance” and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach, which, at this point, was nothing but a tangle of knots.

The music played, languid and smooth as it rose up from the speakers, surrounding the audience. The curtain was drawn open, red velvet folding in on itself as it rushed to reveal the group of members behind it, funnily enough all female except for the two in the middle, wearing black suits, the ones that Dean hated so much, especially now because it was too hot and the material was too tight and everything was collapsing in now.

He looked over, one breath away from an anxiety attack, only to find Castiel looking at him with an encouraging smile, and he couldn’t help but relax and even laugh softly at those dumb white angel wings strapped to his friend’s back. The dance begun shortly after, the group acting out a scene reminiscent of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, but tinged with the despair of The Scarlet Letter.

His movements were fluid, actions dynamic, and whenever he could he cast a glance over at his partner, who worked flawless. He had to admit, the announcer was right, even if it was about this one single dancer, who was just absolutely-

Lights off.

Had it really already been a minute and a half? It felt like shorter, but now, yes, it had been, and a perfect circle of yellow light focused on the shorter boy, who was staring Dean dead in the eye as if he was looking at the stars at night. His heart skipped a beat when another light flipped on, now aiming at him and now the big moment.

His breath hitched as green eyes met blue ones, and they gave each other a silent confirmation to let the other know that yes, it was time, and yes, they were ready. Castiel took a breath before starting, and completing, a perfect pirouette into the strong arms of the Winchester, where he was then lifted up and twirled about in the air, one, two, three times as the music’s beat got stronger, bass got louder, the pace quickening and damn it all if Dean’s pulse wasn’t skyrocketing at the same rate.

They ended with heaving chests, as the light finally managed to cover both of them, one of Dean’s hands resting on Castiel’s hip as his other was placed under his thigh, though if anything it was closer to his butt. The ‘angel’s right leg was hooked over his shoulder, and the left remained suspended in the air with his knee resting against his chest and holy shit they had done it. They had pulled it off.

Applause surrounded them as they stood there for a good minute, allowing everyone to take in the performance at its peak, which just so happened to be its end. As soon as Castiel was on the ground, Dean let out a huge breath, “That was amazing.” He whispered with a huge grin. There was no need to be professional, not with the crowd they had, and he didn’t know what it was but everyone was happy, cheering, applauding and their fellow dancers were looking at them with so much awe and adoration and suddenly he was cupping Cas’ cheeks and eagerly smashing his lips against his own, his shoulders tense and his actions so sudden and unexpected that even he himself wasn’t able to react smoothly.

Everyone seemed to gasp simultaneously, and his heart stopped for a moment, wondering if maybe, just maybe this was a bad idea. Doubt started forming into his brain and guilt and shame kneaded holes into his heart, his stomach, but right as he was about to pull away he felt the push back, the obvious sign that the other was not only okay with his impulsive decision, but reciprocated the feelings entwined.

He didn’t even think it was possible for the applause to be louder than before, but now it was, and he could’ve sworn he heard some ‘aww’s and a shutter noise or two. His freckled cheeks had to have been some shade of pink by now, but he knew if asked he’d blame it on being dead tired.

Cas had pulled away and was now looking at him, a grin on his face, “That was amazing.” He echoed, and Dean smiled, “Cas, buddy…”

The blue eyes he came to love flickered over to the stage manager, who would’ve been pointing crossly at her watch were she not talking excitedly to another woman – most likely over what had just transpired. It became obvious that he was checking to make sure he even had enough time to answer whatever Dean was about to say, “Yes, Dean?”

“I…I really like you man. Like, a lot.”

His mouth went dry as he waited for what seemed like an eternity, which was really about ten seconds in reality, before Cas chuckled, “I love you too, Dean."

The curtains shut at that moment, all at once, leaving the image of two heart-eyed teenagers staring at each other, hands clasped together, on the minds of many families and fellow students.

End Scene.

[machodean-blog]

And I can't seem to change my attitude, but I can change my shirt 

[x]

[queernatural]

Fortunate Misfortunes

requested by sycophantcas for theficbuddynet :)

Pairing: Dean/Benny Prompt: Dean going for a job interview and gets lost on the way to the room. He encounters Benny.

read on AO3

---

Dean Smith is just about ready to scream.

Three days ago, he got the call for an interview at Sandover, literally the place to work at if you want to make it in the business world. There'll be long hours and tyrannical bosses, sure, but the pay cheque is more than generous. It's the kind of job he needs for a nicer place; finally move out of his shoebox apartment with its terrible plumbing and chronic roach problem.

He's been hopping from internship to internship for close to a year now. For many of his fellow alumni, they're in the same boat, but there are also plenty who managed to snag full-time work within weeks after graduation. He's desperate for the money, to start building up his CV, but he's been at a relative standstill for months now.

Then, out of the blue, he got the call. Great! he thought. This was it, his big break. This would be the interview that would define his career.

When he woke up this morning, however, the world must have decided overnight that it was time to completely screw with Dean Smith.

First, his shower was ice cold, the plumbing acting up for the thousandth time. Then, during breakfast, he burnt his tongue on his coffee on the first sip. No big deal. Minor inconveniences, yes, but certainly not the end of the world.

Of course, then he went to start his car, and after sputtering pathetically, the engine fell silent. He turned the keys desperately, but the car was a no-go. Much like his apartment, it was in much need of an upgrade.

"Shit, shit, shit," he cursed and jogged out of the garage, heading for the bus stop two blocks down.  

He reached it just as a bus is pulling off the curb, and no amount of frantic waving slows it down. Sweat coated his back, and he looked up just in time to see a bunch of kids laughing at him from the back of the bus.

Well, fuck you too.

A solid ten minutes later, Dean is finally boarding a cramped bus full of weary commuters and energetic school children. It's peak hour and the bus has far too many more stops to get through before it reaches his.  

That brings him to the here and now, rocking side to side with the traffic, a whirlwind of panic spinning in the back of his mind. His watch reads 8:46, and when he checks again it ticks over to 8:50. He bounces his foot up and down, trying to ease some of his agitation. He doesn't want to be late and irritable for his interview.

Finally, at 8:55, he's flying off the bus before the doors have even opened properly. Thirty seconds later, he's jogging through the entrance to Sandover, and thirty seconds after that, he's riding the elevator up to level 7, the designated "Management" level according to the sign downstairs.

The world just cannot cut him a break, however. When the elevator opens, he's greeted by plastic drapes and knocked out walls, signs of a large scale renovation in progress.

Dean stands there, utterly lost. He doesn't dare check his watch. God, does he have time to go back downstairs to ask at reception? They'd know, surely, but damn it, he doesn't have time...

"Everything alright?"

He blinks, suddenly aware of a rather large, attractive man standing in front of him. The man is donned in a blue collar uniform, his shirt stained with white paint and bits of plaster. He's staring at Dean with kind blue eyes, a friendly smile covered in a thick layer of stubble.

"I, uh-" He swallows, finding himself strangely speechless. Damn it, Winchester, the interview! The interview! "I have an interview with Mr Adler, I thought his office would be up here―"

"Ah, yeah, normally it would be. I'm in charge of the renovations on this level." He wipes the back of his hand against his forehead. "Management's relocated to level five for the time being."

"Level 5?" He exhales shakily. "Okay, thanks. Shit..." He palms his face anxiously. "I'm so late."

"I know Mr. Adler," the man says, his voice warm and comforting. "He's a hardass, but he can't be on time to save his life." He smiles. "You'll be fine, if you hurry."

Dean nods gratefully before smacking the Down button. The elevator doors ding open. "Thanks for your help," Dean says.

The man huffs a laugh. "Any time. And try and relax!" he calls, just as the doors are starting to close. "You've got this!"

Dean smiles, the first one he's managed all day.

---

Dean's two minutes late but Mr Adler doesn't show up for another ten.

The interview goes alarmingly well. In fact, he gets hired right on the spot.

Dean wanders out of Mr Adler's office like he's sleep walking, hardly able to believe that this is real life. He's got a job; a proper well-paying job. He's starting next week. He won't have to live with his shitty plumbing anymore.

He catches the elevator downstairs and heads out onto the street, his feet dragging just a little. He's tired from all the running he's done today ― when's the last time he went to the gym, anyway? ― but there's a great big grin on his face.

His stomach growls as he's passing a tiny sandwich shop tucked between two twelve storey buildings. His feet carry him into the store before he can stop himself, and as he's perusing the menu, he's hit by a rather spontaneous thought.

He orders two sandwiches, one turkey and one ham. That spontaneity guides him back into Sandover and leads him up to level 7, something nervous squirming in his gut.

The man from earlier is sitting on a stool just to the left of the elevator. He's busy chomping on an apple, but glances up when Dean approaches.

"Well, we meet again," the man greets him. "How'd that interview go?"

"I got hired," Dean says, that smile still firmly fixed on his face. "Thank you."

"Naw, don't go thanking me, brother." He waves a hand. "You nailed that interview. I'm not taking any credit for that."

"Then at least take one of these." Dean offers him both sandwiches. "I've got turkey and ham. Take your pic."

The man's eyes widen with surprise. "That's awfully nice if you. I dunno if I can take one."

"Ah, come on," Dean says, adding a slightly flirtation twist to his smile. "You're a big guy. You gotta eat, right?"

The man chuckles. "Ain't that right. What's your name?"

"Dean, Dean Smith. You?"

"I'm Benny Lafitte," he tells him, grinning. "Nice to meet ya, Dean."

"Same here. Now come on, quit stalling," Dean says, shaking the sandwich bags pointedly. "Pick one."

"Hm, alright," he answers, a curious twinkle in his eye. "I'll choose one, but only if you'll join me for lunch." He drags another stool closer to him, patting the seat. "I won't bite, promise. We got a deal?"

Dean grins. "Deal."

[galaxystiel]

Fresh(man) Cup Of Coffee

requested by queernatural for theficbuddynet!

Ship: Dean/Aaron

Prompt: First day of college, Person A got lost on the way to class.

“Crap, crap, crap!” Dean muttered as he hurried across campus towards the Armstrong building. Seriously, who designed the layout of colleges? They were always like a freaking maze or something, and even sleeping in by two minutes was enough to make him late. Okay, so it was more like thirty minutes, but who was counting? He’d have still been able to make it to class on time if the place wasn’t laid out like the set of Labyrinth.

Arriving at the right building, Dean burst through the doors and then stopped dead. The place was deserted, but not only that, it was blocked off for construction. A huge sign saying to use the other entrance was placed on the wall. From the vaguely helpful map that accompanied the sign, Dean knew that the other doors were on the other side of the building, another ten minute walk at least.

“Maybe I should just write off this damn lecture and start looking for my next one. That way I might only be ten minutes late,” Dean huffed, hitching his bag further up his shoulder. He hadn’t even had time to have his morning coffee, which left him irritable at the best of times. His maroon shirt was inside out from how quickly he’d thrown his clothes on. The worst part was his roommate, some nerdy blue-eyed dude who wore bee sweaters, who had just snorted and walked out. No doubt the dick was perfectly on time for his class.

Dean sped up his pace as he darted around the corner, heading for the other entrance of the building. This was definitely the kind of impression he wanted to make on his first day of college.  He’d had such high hopes, envisioned himself sitting in the front row with his notebooks and pens in front of him. He’d forgotten his pen, only had a chewed up pencil that he’d found stuffed inside his jacket pocket.

Hurrying through the doors, Dean hurriedly checked the room number written on the back of his hand. Room 3.37, which meant third floor. Not wanting to wait to catch the elevator, Dean darted up the stairs, breathless by the time he reached the third floor.  “Okay, room thirty seven,” he panted to himself, hurrying along the hall, and passing a guy who was heading in the opposite direction. They locked eyes for a brief moment, and then Dean continued on, counting the rooms.

Twenty nine, thirty, thirty one… what the hell?

“What the fuck?” Dean snapped, eventually losing his temper. He was at the end of the corridor, and the rooms stopped at thirty one. Where the hell was thirty two to thirty seven?

Wheeling back around, he decided that class could go fuck itself and he was going to get the largest coffee that the campus had to offer. There was one other guy walking along the hall, and Dean glanced at him.

The guy, dark haired and sporting a beard, smiled at him tentatively, and raised his hand in greeting.

Dean frowned, his lips pursing a little and he nodded once, before stopping. “Hey, weren’t you just going the other way?”

The cute guy laughed shakily and shrugged. “You caught me. To tell the truth, you looked kinda lost. And considering you’re on the third floor, I’m guessing you’re looking for one of the annex rooms?”

Dean licked his lips slowly, and looked down at his hand. “Uh, I don’t know. I lost my schedule so I wrote down my classrooms on my hand. All I wrote was room 3.37 and the name of the professor, and the room doesn’t seem to exist.”

“Room 3.37 is in the annex,” the guy smiled and offered his hand briefly. “Aaron Bass. Sophomore and totally an expert on maneuvering this campus. I remember it all from last year, I got lost dozens of times.”

Dean laughed, grateful to find out that it wasn’t just him being a moron, that the campus was actually ridiculously complicated. Taking the offered hand, he smiled at the warm grip and met Aaron’s eyes. “Dean Winchester, freshman and totally lost. So how do I get to the annex?”

Aaron smiled back at Dean, their eyes locking for a long moment. “Well, there’s a separate staircase from the first floor, you need to follow the hall and take the other stairs. It’s kind of in another wing, but it’s only accessible from that one staircase.”

He glanced down, and Dean followed his eyes, suddenly realising that he hadn’t let go of Aaron’s hand. His cheeks turned pink and he cleared his throat, abruptly dropping his hand and shoving the offending appendage deep into the pocket of his faded jeans.

“Well, uh, thanks, man. You’re a life saver. And look, I’m only… twenty minutes late for class,” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “I hope Professor… Harvelle will understand.”

Aaron whistled. “Harvelle? Ellen Harvelle? She’s a total hardass, man, you do not want to walk into her class late. She’d rather you didn’t come at all and give you catch up material than you walking in late. Trust me, she’ll flay your ass in front of the entire classroom if you interrupt her.”

Dean winced and decided he’d take that advice. It seemed pointless to turn up for forty minutes, when it was just going to be an introductory lecture anyway. “Well, looks like you’ve saved my ass again, Aaron,” he smiled. “Guess I’ll find somewhere to go and get a cup of joe before my next class starts. I’m gonna make sure I leave early enough to find the damn thing this time.”

Smiling, Aaron nodded at Dean. “No worries, man, cool to meet you.” He took a few steps down the hall and then paused, turning back. “Hey, Dean… as well as being an expert on finding my way around the place… I also know where to get a pretty decent cup of coffee. If you’re interested.”

Dean, who had started walking down the hall, stumbled over nothing and felt his cheeks heat up at the offer. He’d told himself he wouldn’t hide his sexuality while he was here, now he was away from his dad, he could be himself. Still, he hadn’t expected to have this on his first day. Unless he was totally reading things wrong? Either way, he’d just made a total ass of himself in front of the cute guy.

But when he turned around, Aaron was smiling at him patiently, waiting for an answer, and the look on his face told Dean that he wasn’t reading this wrong at all.

“Hey, man, I’m flattered and … yeah, maybe a little interested, but I’m… just a freshman, I haven’t even thought about what I’m majoring in yet. Hell, I don’t even know how I got into college.”

Aaron smiled. “Is that supposed to make you less interesting?” He held out his hand again, and this time, it wasn’t for a handshake.

Well with an offer like that, how could Dean refuse? He reached out and tangled his fingers together with Aaron’s, letting himself be led down the hallway, back towards the stairs.

Okay, so the morning hadn’t been a total disaster.